


Soleil

by two_ff



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Angst and Humor, Babies, Canonical Character Death, Complete, Drinking, F/M, Gambling Addiction, HP: EWE, May/December Relationship, Rated for later chapter(s), Unplanned Pregnancy, Widowed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-16 09:02:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8096107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/two_ff/pseuds/two_ff
Summary: Just a meeting of minds and hearts over cocktails...





	1. NIGHTMARE

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer:  I own nothing of HP nor do I profit in any way from these missives.The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and/or WB. I do not profit in any manner by any means from the publishing or writing of this story.

“…I guess it’s a sickness. Merlin! He’d gotten better… and now _this!_ ”

 

The witch scowled, frustrated at her own inability to control her tears.

 

“What about hazard insurance? I assume there was a policy given the dangers of his position in the Ministry.”

“We couldn’t keep up the premiums. I wasn’t expecting to be out of work so long…”

“Then stop being stubborn and let me —”

“No, Draco. I appreciate your offer but ‘no’. My husband got us into this and I’ll figure it out. Thank you, though…”

“Look… something will work out. Let me see what I can do. And don’t worry.”

 

Draco Malfoy noted the sad smile and grim chuckle from a witch used to being in control of her life.

 

“Do you miss him, Hermione?”

“Terribly…”

 

From the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the main floor, the CEO of the empty club took in the conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nightmare Cocktail
> 
> 1 1/2 oz gin  
> 1/2 oz cherry brandy  
> 1/2 oz madeira  
> 1 tsp orange juice
> 
> Shake all ingredients with ice, strain into a cocktail glass, and serve.


	2. GAMBLE

“So tell me, Draco, what’s got you so preoccupied?”

 

Lucius Malfoy gracefully lowered himself into his favorite wingback chair in the salon adjoining the entry hall of Malfoy Manor. On a sofa near the fireplace sat his only son and heir.

 

“Father, you do read the Prophet every day?”

“The Financial and Obituary pages. Please explain.”

 

Leaning forward, Lucius levitated the cocktail glass of brandy to his son, making a point to keep it steady.

 

“Then you should recall that Ronald Weasley was killed in a raid on Rookwood’s Keep. Had a bit of a gambling problem; he’s into Zabini for 50k.”

 

Lucius Malfoy, head of his own multinational conglomerate, understood the difficulty a debt of 50,000 galleons [£250,000] would leave for Ron’s widow.

 

“I’ve talked to Zabini but he’s still pissed at Ron’s interference with Ginny. Took it pretty hard when she went back to Harry Potter.”

 

Stretching on the sofa, Draco extended his long legs as he leaned back to stare at the ceiling and ran his long fingers through the receding hairline he’d inherited from the Blacks.

 

“Potter’s vault at Gringott’s must hold sufficient —”

“Potter doesn’t know and Hermione forbade me telling him. Won’t matter in thirty days because Zabini is threatening to make the debt public if Hermione doesn’t advocate for him with Ginny. Seems Weaslette and Potter are struggling again in their marriage.”

“I’m surprised you’re not taking more pleasure in this _situation_. You had no love for Molly dullest child.”

“Not after what Astoria and I went through to have Scorp. Hermione’s been a good friend to us both… Kept me sane through all those treatments. We wouldn’t have Scorpius without Hermione's potions work. I’m just not sure what to do. Zabini’s being a right bastard about it…”

“He’s in love with a woman he can’t have and he’s been hurt.” Lucius considered aloud.

“Well, I’ve got to pick up Scorp from Hermione’s. See you at dinner.”

 

Draco moved towards the floo, aware his father had drifted from the conversation.

 

Several hours and another gourmet meal later, Astoria ascended the steps to their suite in the Manor, leaving the Malfoy men — including a sleeping Scorpius — to the evening after making her apologies.

 

“Is everything alright?”

 

The grin communicated more than the words that followed.

 

“Astoria’s pregnant. Two months. We’re keeping it quiet…”

 

Even Lucius suffered through the four miscarriages the couple endured.

 

“Understandable. I’ve thought a bit about your friend, Mrs. Weas—”

 

“—Granger. She’s gone back to Granger; they’re too many Mrs. ‘Weasleys’—”

“—Ms. Granger, then. I’ve given some thought to her problem and wanted to suggest a course of action to you…”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gamble Cocktail
> 
> 1 oz apricot brandy  
> 3/4 oz Mandarine Napoleon® orange liqueur  
> 1/2 oz sweet sherry  
> 1 oz mango juice  
> 3 tbsp vanilla ice cream
> 
> Blend briefly with half a glassful of crushed ice. Serve in a wine goblet.


	3. SUFFERING BASTARD

“Mr. Malfoy?”

“Lucius, please. It’s good to see you again, Mrs. Weas—”

 

The stricken look on Hermione’s face registered with him before his faux pas.

 

“I’m sorry… I should know better. Please accept my most heartfelt apologies, Ms. Granger.”

“It’s q-q-quite alright,” she stuttered out, reaching for the clean linen handkerchief he offered her, “I’m growing used to it.”

“Join me?”

 

Offering her his arm, the owner of “Soleil” escorted the young woman to a stool at the bar, retreating to the bartender’s location as she seated herself.

 

Desperate to reestablish his influence on the wizarding community after the epic failure of his former “ _leader_ ” — the half-blood maniac known as _Lord_ Voldemort — Lucius let Draco talk him into opening the hottest club in Europe. From his office above the main lounge (invisible to patrons thanks to a complicated disillusionment charm), Lucius watched and eavesdropped on the movers and shakers in this new world he had to navigate.

A few months into the unprecedented success he’d prayed Britain's biggest prankster, Merlin, would be merciful and the place would burn to dark grey ash. He hated the cuisine (“Asian fusion”), hated the music (”Weird Sisters” and similar noise), hated the dance floor (vertical sex in a public venue) and hated its success (400,000 galleons a month net profit). Four years in and the place showed no signs of failing.

For most of those four years he and Draco managed the record-keeping necessary to reveal theft and pilfering. However, with Scorpius’ birth — the sought-for result of a long and arduous pursuit — Draco no longer wanted to keep the topsy-turvy hours and life of a club owner. Lucius shouldered the burden alone for months until an idea came, one catalyzed by a conversation overheard in the bar…

 

“Your preference?”

“Just water, please.”

“Come now, you’re in one of the most exclusive clubs in the city.”

“In Europe. You’ve rewritten the rules on profitability according to Wizard Enterprises magazine.”

 

Genuine appreciation for Hermione's intellect spread across his patrician features.

 

“Your reputation in our community is well deserved. When did you finish your program in Arithmancy?”

“Actually,” the Gryffindor genius explained after a sip of water, “I read for Arithmancy and Medical Potions at Wizarding University of Britain. Potions are my passion so I accepted the job at St. Mungo’s.”

“For which I am grateful — thank you for helping my family; we love Scorpius.”

 

She almost gave him a true grin. The one she did provide hinted at her usual upbeat nature.

 

“He’s a Malfoy, that one. Bright, mischievous and disarmingly handsome. Always trying to get at my biscuits.”

 

She laughed in memory of his grandson’s antics and Lucius noticed the slight relaxation in his shoulders. Her ability to put him at ease probably made her a damn good healer.

 

“Anyway,” she sighed, “Ron and I thought arithmancy would give me more control over our life and my schedule — especially being married to an auror. I’ve been trying to switch careers for the last ten months. Not sure what I’ll do now; Ron paid most of the bills while I built the business…”

 

“Consider me a client. Can I get you something else?” he queried, aware of her empty glass, “How about a Gran Treacle?”

“No, no… I really shouldn’t under the circumstances.”

“Nonsense. How can you assist me if you have no idea of the quality I purvey?

“I shouldn’t indulge, Mr. Mal—”

“Lucius.”

“Lucius.” she corrected herself while gazing on him. The business' senior partner watched as the most brilliant witch of her generation rewrote her mental notes on the wizard in front of her.

 

 _She must be beyond desperate…_ he calculated behind a charming countenance.

 

Ignoring her protest, Lucius whipped up a tumbler of something reddish and smelling fruity but not overly so on either count. Pleased with the outcome, the wily Slytherin sat the container before her and _stared —_ daring the desperate interviewee to deny his hospitable gesture.

 

Nodding in thanks, Hermione sipped the mixture hesitantly.

 

“This is wonderful! What is it?”

“Peachy Lychee — wait!” the temporary bartender reacted to her attempt to push the tumbler away, “I’ve substituted peach-flavored seltzer for the schnapps and lychee syrup for the lychee liquor. The vodka remains in its bottle for this version. Completely virgin and completely safe.”

“I can see why you’re successful — you adapt quickly.”

“A necessary survival trait. Now that we’re both satisfied, let’s get on to my needs. I am drowning in financial paperwork. Draco and I barely kept up and now that he’s stepped back from this _prison_ he talked me into I find myself in need of saving.”

“What services do you require?”

 

_Be careful, Ms. Granger; you’re talking to a Malfoy and a Slytherin…_

 

“To start, I’m almost two months behind in posting to the accounts. Can you assist me with that?”

“Certainly. What time would you like me here?”

“No — I’ll duplicate the books. Once you’ve made the updates we can compare. It will provide an opportunity to assess your work.”

 

The muugle-born witch stoically accepted the necessity, yet again, to prove her skills.

 

“I normally charge —”

“All my professional staff are under contract. I find it provides a measure of security for them.”

“And for you as well, I’m sure. Harder for them to betray corporate secrets and intellectual property.”

“You remind me of Cissa. Only other woman I ever met with a head for business…”

 

Hermione’s features softened as his eyes took on a hazy, watery shine.

 

“I heard from Draco. I’m so sorry, Lucius.”

“Given your recent challenges,” the still grieving widower spoke softly, “I’m sure you can appreciate that it can sometimes be overwhelming...”

 

Slow tears leaked from the corners of his cloudy grey eyes.

 

“Yes, I can…”

 

Tears dripped from the recent widow's nose and cheeks onto the burnished metal surface of the bar.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suffering Bastard Cocktail
> 
> 1 1/2 oz rum  
> 1 oz overproof rum  
> 3/4 oz Orange Curacao liqueur  
> 1/2 oz orgeat syrup  
> 1 oz fresh lime juice  
> 2 oz fresh orange juice
> 
> Shake all ingredients well and strain into an ice-filled double old-fashioned glass. Garnish with slices of orange and lime, and serve.
> 
>  
> 
> Peachy Lychee Cocktail
> 
> 1 1/2 oz Vodka  
> 1 oz Lichido Liqueur  
> 1 oz Peach Schnapps  
> Splash of Grapefruit Juice  
> Slice of Fresh Peach


	4. LifeSaver

“… so I’ve recategorized your upgrades to the kitchen as an expense rather than a long-term investment. You’ll be able to write them off on your muggle taxes as well as your wizarding taxes in a single year. Assuming no other extraordinary events this year, you should owe nothing to either tax authority.”

 

Lucius stared in shock at the numbers: in three weeks Hermione’d just saved the company 430,000 galleons [£2,150,000] in taxes, the bane of any business.

 

“And I’d like to speak to you about my contract —”

“Was the fee not sufficient?”

“No,” she chuckled, “quite the contrary. It’s five times the rate for someone with my level of experience. Not a sound business choice.”

“Ms. Granger; you just saved my company 430,000 galleons, a 12% increase in net profits, and you did so in 15 business days. I think your fee is commensurate to your skills.”

“Th-Th-Thank you, Mr. Mal— Lucius.”

“And now I think we can put to bed the idea that I have a clue about business financials. I’d like you to come on board full time.”

 

Before her, Lucius Malfoy’s hands again weaved and dipped as another cocktail “potion” took form.

 

“I can’t, Mr. Malfoy…”

 

The glass swept onto the cocktail napkin he sat before her.

 

“It’s Lucius — and why _not_?” he asked, clearly peeved, “Do taste this; I’m considering adding it to our menu if you like it.”

 

Unwilling to further irritate him, Hermione sipped the newest recipe.

 

“It’s quite refreshing.”

“It’s my virgin apple julep. I’ve found that unsweetened birch beer syrup replaces the bourbon quite nicely. Now explain why you’re turning me out without support?”

 

A flourish of his hand “invited” the still grieving widow to join him at a nearby booth.

 

“I can’t commit to full-time work right now.”

“And why is that?”

 

The aristocrat’s impassive face gave no hint to his thoughts other than his clear frustration with not getting what he wanted.

 

“I have a daughter…”

 

His next expression differed from frustration yet still managed to convey almost none of his thinking.

 

“Our troubles… My business was growing — not _quickly_ — but with a few clients. We decided to start our family as I was already working from home. Work picked up and the stress affected my blood pressure — I ended up on bed rest during my seventh month which ruined our cash-flow. I had to turn my clients over to others… then Ron was killed…”

 

Tears pooled on the edge of the table, falling a second time onto her shapely legs. Loyal to the end, she’d omitted revealing Ron’s betting — and losing — every spare sickle on Quidditch.

 

“What about your in-laws? I would think dear cousin ‘Molly’ would salivate to keep the newest ginger — your daughter _is_ a ginger, is she not?”

“In a manner of speaking,” and Hermione whipped out a wizard photo of a breathtaking child with her mother’s oval face, auburn ginger hair, and hazel blue-brown eyes.

“She’s breathtaking, Hermione.”

“Isn’t she? Molly minds almost all the Weasley grandchildren. My daughter only has me; we only have each other now. That’s why I can’t commit to a full time position. She won’t get the attention she deserves in amongst all of her cousins. With Ron gone, I’ll have to be two parents for a while. I’m still nursing; she’s only two months old.”

“She and Scorpius will be first years together.”

“Astoria said the same thing. They seem to like each other, the children.”

“Your husband never got to see his child, did he?”

 

As she shook her head, Hermione wore the same expression as Lucius did the day he held Scorpius for the first time at St. Mungo’s and realized Narcissa would miss it all. She’d left him — unwillingly — fourteen months ago, surrendering at the end to a virulent female wasting disease.

 

“I will not accept ‘ **no** ’ for an answer. You will not force me back into the hell of handling my own accounting affairs. How about this? I’ll make space for an office upstairs. Come in when you like; otherwise work from home. Set it up as you please — that includes a cot, play-mat-thing, clothing bureau — whatever you need. Bring the child with you. If I need your undivided attention, I’ll have Bitsy come by and tend to her while we meet.”

 

“Bitsy??? Draco’s nanny?”

“None other. And before you raise your hackles at me, she’s on my payroll; allows us to deduct for childcare expenses and her room and board against our business taxes.”

 

Hermione stared, impressed and appalled at the machinations of this clever man.

 

“And my contract? You don’t need someone like me — you need a criminal tax solicitor.”

 

Both laughed together.

 

“In time. Your contract fee stands. My affairs cannot be considered simplistic by any measure. The fee represents the complexity of keeping me wealthy and out of Azkaban. Permanently.”

 

 _He’s so different,_ she thought, _Why the change???…_

 

“Lucius?…”

 

Both rose. Small damp spots darkened the front of Hermione’s blouse; she’d passed the baby’s feeding time.

 

“Not that I’m ungrateful but why are you assisting me like this?”

 

The tall, beautiful man stilled to gaze upon her with piercing, bird-of-prey grey eyes and a heartbreakingly melancholy smile.

 

“You’ve altered several lives in this family, Ms. Granger. And you gave me a grandson to continue the family.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lifesaver Cocktail
> 
> 1 oz Midori® melon liqueur  
> 1 oz light rum  
> 3 oz pineapple juice
> 
> Place liquors and juice into a shaker and mix well. Serve in a rocks glass.
> 
>  
> 
> Apple Julep Cocktail
> 
> 2 oz. cinnamon and apple infused bourbon  
> 1/2 oz. rock candy syrup  
> 1/2 oz. fresh sweet and sour mix  
> Club soda  
> 10 fresh spearmint leaves  
> 2-3 thin slices of a red delicious apple


	5. FIGHT Night

“No amount of arithmancy funny business will make this a good deal, Lucius!”

“I understand there’s risk, but risk is where the profit is! Can’t you see that!?”

 

At that point, the small bundle that had whimpered most of the day without really resting began to weep in earnest.

 

“There’s no reason —“ Hermione flung over her shoulder as she bent to lift her daughter from the playpen yet again. In her mother’s arms the child  keened softly.

“— for the standup cost to climb like that. For Merlin’s sake, Lucius, that’s 60% more than you paid to construct Soleil I and the property in Paris cost less than half of the London space!”

 

Her words swelled and diminished as she trooped around the room jiggling the fussy baby, desperate to calm her usually happy daughter.

 

“I bet you take great pleasure in ruining other people’s fun, don’t you, Hermione?”

 

The glare she sent had limited impact as Lucius sat preoccupied by her attempts to modestly undo both her blouse and her nursing bra in the hopes the child would finally latch on and quiet down; she’d failed four prior times in the last six hours and suspected the baby was starving.

 

“You hired me to crank the numbers and provide you with my results. If you no longer desire my recommendations I can find someone more suited to your brand of **fantasy**!”

“We have a _**contract**_!”

“Which allows **you** — and _only_ you — to terminate me at your pleasure. You’ve been more than generous with me; if the time has come to hire someone more experienced and _less_ **_intelligent_** , I **completely** understand!”

 

As the _real_ Hermione Granger — genius swot, war hero, loving wife to one of the “Golden Trio”, grieving widow and mother to the next generation of superhero — never capitulated, Lucius ignored her attempt to get herself fired and merely glared at her.

 

In the three months she’d worked for him, Lucius had found one — and _only_ one — error and it was really his fault. He’d had her floo over to review last minute contracts numerous times and she’d missed a single misspelling under the signature line. _Every_ time, without so much as a stern look, she’d place her sleeping daughter in the cot upon arrival, pull the needed document from his hands and flop onto the sofa in her office to read until finished.

He’d observed her as she reviewed each contract. Hermione never paused to put on makeup, not that she wore much. Lucius' sensitive nose often caught traces of lilac from her pre-bedtime shower and the remaining mint from her toothpaste (she was the product of _two_ dentists). Many nights she slept in a “Featherstone Rovers Rugby” t-shirt and light flannel sleeping pants, probably her dead husband’s as the legs were rolled up several times. Over this, a threadbare robe carelessly dwarfed her petite frame.

 

Back in the present, Soleil’s majority owner posed a query —

 

“Your Rose is normally such a sweet child. Has she been ill?”

 

Struggling with the infant as Rose shook her head from side-to-side to avoid the nipple, Rose’s mother succumbed to frustration and fatigue, slow tears hitting her daughter’s face and raising the volume of the infant’s crying to an uncomfortable level.

 

“Not that I’m aware. It started this morning. I made an appointment for her for Saturday at St. Mungo’s pædiatric clinic.”

“That’s _three **days**_ from now!" the concerned father and grandfather near bellowed, "The child needs to be seen  immediately!”

 

Scared, frustrated, tired and alone, Hermione snapped.

 

“And I need to **work** , Mr. Malfoy. I don’t have the luxury of taking days off because of a child who _might_ be ill!”

 

Lucius pulled back in shock at her scolding, placing distance between them on the sofa. Eyebrows arched and turbulent eyes wide, the aristocrat made the perfect picture of someone about to terminate an insubordinate employee. His expression softened when his brain registered her horror at her words and her anxiety that she might have pushed him into firing her.

First came his _Scourgify_ in a harsh whisper, then his command —

 

“Give the child to me, please.”

 

The look on the protective mother’s face was priceless. Never had “ _Are you mental, you **dark git!**?_ ” been communicated so effectively.

 

“Please?… I have some experience.”

 

Only exhaustion could be blamed when Hermione moved the child away from her exposed breast without a second thought to her modesty and lay Rose gently into Lucius Malfoy’s outstretched arms.

Lucius promptly stuck his pinky finger in the child’s mouth while keeping an appreciative eye on that milk-filled breast as it disappeared back into the bra. Baby Rose promptly ceased wailing, gnawing on the strange man’s fingertip while her little fingers gripped the digit tightly to prevent its removal.

 

“She’s teething. Rubbing her gums provides relief. I’m told it’s very painful. Draco howled like a werewolf and drooled on my best robes for weeks.”

 

His diagnosis and treatment were met with sobbing from a new source. Hermione now sat hunched forward, face in her hands, crying hysterically.

 

“Oh, _bother_! What  now, witch!?”

“Biim bn mwfl mffr [I’m an awful mother!]”

“No, you’re a single parent - exhausting under the best circumstances. Stay,” he instructed as if his blubbering bookkeeper were a misbehaving pet.

 

When she heard the “pop” of apparition, her mothers’ instinct shot her off the couch — screaming threats to the wizard who’d just disappeared with her last connection to Ron.

 

“Merlin’s saggy balls, woman! Do you EVER do as you’re TOLD!”

 

In addition to the baby, who lay drowsily in his arms, Hermione’s boss returned holding a half-filled flute of sparkling muscato d’asti.

 

“Drink this.”

“I can’t! I’m nursing.”

“Trust me, half a flute will do you both good.”

“How did you settle her? She’s never refused a feed before.”

“Old Malfoy family recipe — firewhiskey rubbed on her gums.”

 

After losing a staring contest over the administration of alcohol to her daughter, Hermione snatched the flute from his hand and downed the dessert wine in a single draw. She keeled over five minutes later as her employer chuckled and wandlessly covered her with a quilt _Accio_ ’d from the Manor. The sly Slytherin had loaded her wine with a double dose of Dreamless Sleep potion.

Rocking the drowsy baby in his arms, the father and grandfather cooed to the little girl.

 

“Your mother is quite stubborn, isn’t she, little one?”

 

The chair fully reclined under the momentum of his sitting.

 

“We’ll take care of the stubborn, know-it-all swot, won’t we, belle fleur [beautiful flower]?” he crooned to the baby as he nuzzled her forehead with his lips, laying her on his chest to sleep.

 

The baby delivered a contented sigh before wiggling to listen to his heartbeat as she slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fight Night Cocktail
> 
> 2 oz cognac  
> 1 splash grenadine syrup  
> 2 1/2 oz Squirt® citrus soda  
> 2 slices limes
> 
> Pour Cognac in first, then squeeze the two lime slices in the glass, pour the Squirt in, then splash the grenadine on top.
> 
>  
> 
> Muscato D’Asti
> 
> Moscato d'Asti is a "Denominazione di origine controllata e garantita" sparkling white wine produced mainly in the province of Asti, north-west Italy, and in smaller nearby regions in the provinces of Alessandria and Cuneo. The wine is sweet and low in alcohol, and often enjoyed with dessert. _Wikipedia_


	6. Gang-Related

As she rushed into his office at Soleil’s Paris venue, Hermione found Lucius as she often did in recent months — stretched out on the floor playing with Rose on a duvet from the Manor. Today he held the baby's tiny hands as she practiced walking barefoot across his chest.

 

“We have a problem.”

“When do we _not_ , Hermione?”

 

Graceful despite his age, her employer stood, bending to sweep the infant up and into his arms when he regained his feet.

 

“You’re spoiling her; she refuses to let me put her down at home.”

“My prerogative; check your contract.”

 

The enchanted contract added clauses at Lucius’ will, constantly rewriting itself despite her magical signature and its registration with the British Ministry.

 

“Someone’s laundering galleons through us — counterfeit galleons.”

“Desk,” he called out to her as he moved to take his customary seat behind the spoken item.

“I’ll put Rose in the playpen.”

“She prefers my lap. I prefer her in it.”

 

A frustrated sigh overcame the young mother’s best attempts to remain professional about her unusual child minder arrangements. Molly insisted on helping with Rose as Hermione’s duties expanded and required travel. 

After weeks without the child in his office, Lucius made it a point to floo to the Burrow and “pick Rose up for Hermione”. 

The day he’d fallen asleep in his office with the baby in his arms — and without alerting Rose's mother to her whereabouts — had been epic. Draco’d floo'd in (for his usual dinner engagement with his father) to find Lucius pinned in a corner, Rose held tightly in his arms, while Hermione jabbed the wizard’s chest repeatedly with her wand and screamed what would happen the next time her employer kidnapped her daughter.

It had no effect on his behaviour.

Two weeks later she’d relented; Molly kept Rose only under extraordinary circumstances.

 

Flopping into one of two chairs in front of his desk, Hermione continued the debrief.

 

“A month ago I noted a curious change in the sales at one of the terminals. That drawer consistently registers 25 to 30% more sales. So I looked into it. Based on it’s location the increase in transactions made no sense; until three months ago that spot typically handled a third fewer sales than the others.”

“What changed?”

 

Standing on Lucius’ lap, Rose contentedly sucked her fingers while playing with his hair.

 

“Lars Fabian. Hired five months ago in London and trained there. Nothing of interest. He holds dual magical citizenship in France and Norway.”

“So Lars might be a graduate of Durmstrang?”

“That’s my guess. His arrival here predates another unusual change. The Poliakov party began their weekly after-hours visits about a week after Mr. Fabian took over that location. Most weeks they spend at least 30,000 galleons.”

“Good customers. Security hasn’t had a single issue with their group. Also Durmstrang graduates, if I recall.”

 

Adopting a smug grin, Hermione raked her skirt up just enough to allow her to prop her silk-stockinged legs on the chair in front of her. Lucius had to cross his legs (while holding little Rose steady) to stop his response to her as she leaned forward to remove her heels and stretched her limbs deliciously.

 

“That’s because Security has no training in spotting fake galleons.”

 

Lucius shot forward in his chair, encircling Rose with his other hand to keep her safely in his lap.

 

“During my sixth year at Hogwarts, I created a number of fake galleons for Dumbledore’s Army. Each galleon was charmed to display the date and time of the next meeting. Dolores Umbridge held one in her hand — she thought I’d charmed a _real_ galleon.”

“I’m not paying you enough. You’re an expert in counterfeiting.”

“You’re paying me more than you should but there’s nothing I can do about it. My daughter has five years of Hogwarts paid in full.” 

“I’m also astounded that you’re not a Slytherin.”

“So’s Draco — but he maintains that everyone has a little Slytherin in them.” 

“Let’s hope so.”

 

She let the double entendre pass unchallenged.

 

“In any case, after Fabian’s shift last weekend I had his cash drawer pulled and I personally charmed every galleon he touched that night. We have two problems.”

 

While Hermione rifled through the stack of parchments hiding the top of those gorgeous gams from Lucius’ view, Lucius accio’d a bottle of breast milk from the stasis chest he kept in his office and cast a quick warming charm on it. With his Bella's teething nearly done, a full tummy would provide maximum time for her mother to explain how someone was stealing from a Malfoy.

 

Stealing from Malfoys historically proved to be a very life-altering choice.

 

“The first problem is that Fabian has been entering more transactions than the surveillance equipment says he should have. The difference between the Poliakov party’s tabs and the legitimate cash in the till exactly matches the number of counterfeit galleons I found.”

“We’re taking in fakes and making change with real ones.”

“Exactly. The second problem is I’m unsure how many they’ve passed.”

“Has Gringott’s been notified?”

“Yes and I’ve proven to them that their counterfeiting charm requires an update.”

“I’m sure they didn’t hesitate to offer you a position.”

“No, they didn't… Something about owing them for the loss of a trained watch-dragon,” she smirked.

 

The CEO’s slate grey eyes glanced at the wall clock as he settled the suckling infant at a recline in the crook of his arm.

 

“The Poliakov party will arrive in two hours; I need to prepare.”

 

— and he found his feet slowly so as not to disturb the child when he transferred her to her mother.

 

“What are you going to do?”

“If you’ve been your usual thorough self, I’m sure you’ve documented this for the French authorities?”

“Yes and they’ll be here to interview us tomorrow; but that doesn’t answer my question. What are you going to do?”

“What I resolved to do a long time ago — to never let anyone take anything that’s mine.”

“Don’t be rash, Lucius. Let the authorities handle it.”

 

Faced with a testosterone crisis, Hermione’s stress disturbed Rose’s quiet slumber.

 

“Do not wake that child, Hermione. You’ll catch the devil getting her back to sleep in my absence.”

“Lucius, you do NOT have to deal with this! What possible purpose can be served by you dueling fifteen people!?”

 

Now Rose fretted in her twilight sleep, reacting to the raised voices in the room (mostly Hermione’s).

 

“Hermione,” he hissed in a failed attempt to whisper, “counterfeiting and money laundering gangs seldom work alone. While the authorities will stop this problem, they won’t prevent every other bloody thug that knows of Poliakov’s scheme from using my business as a bank! Call it setting an example. You’re to stay here until I return — and do not wake that child with your shrieking.”

 

Rocking the babe, Gryffindor’s bravest muggle-born confronted the issue still unspoken between them.

 

“And if you **_don’t_** return?…”

 

Lucius sighed and Gryffindor’s most brilliant muggle-born teared up. The wily survivor closed the distance between them in three long strides and gently kissed his accountant's forehead, his arms cradling her as she cradled her daughter.

 

“As my only heir, Draco inherits Malfoy Enterprises. I’ve left Soleil I and II to you and Draco jointly and to Rose — she’s the majority owner. Her stake is in trust until her 25th birthday and controlled by you. Draco knows and concurs.”

 

Stepping away, Lucius opened the wardrobe hidden in the corner and selected the appropriate arse-kicking clothing before stepping into the en-suite to change.

 

“Will you wait for me here or are you so incensed by my intent that you will run away with Rose and ruin my inevitable victory celebration?” he called out from the en-suite.

“I’ll wait here. The authorities will want a senior staff member to identify the remains,” she growled at the gap in the en-suite doorway.

“Such a defeatist attitude... So be it! I’ll prove to you I’m not the decrepit wizard you think I am,” and with a pop, he apparated to the main floor of the club and magically blacked the glass wall in the office to block her view.

 

Two hours later found Hermione sobbing in harmony with Rose on the sofa in Lucius’ office as Draco tried and failed to console her.

 

“Hermione, my father’s no fool.”

“He joined the Death Eaters!” she snapped back.

“He’s not _always_ a fool — and this is different. He’s right, you know. Leave this to the authorities and this place will be a haven of criminal activity and not the high-end, high profit club it is now. Is that what you want?”

“I’m out of my depth here, Draco. I’m just a glorified bookkeeper; I never expected Lucius would confront these criminals! If I had —”

“If you’d known, you wouldn’t have revealed it — you’d go Gryffindor and take care of it yourself.”

 

That got a small smile; Draco called it correctly.

 

“What if something hap—”

 

A loud “ **POP** ” announced the return of the conquering hero —

— and he looked like ten miles of torn-up road. 

 

His face sported any number of bruises as did his entire chest and back (visible through the remains of his burning robes). Burns pretty well covered his hands and forearms, none serious but clearly painful. Someone had taken an inch from his long hair and singed an ear in the process.

 

“What _**fun**_ that was! I used spells I haven’t cast since —”

 

The stench of smoke and something else noxious covered his trousers; the missing areas revealed the still-handsome poseur wore embroidered red silk boxers — that managed to survive the encounter with not _one_ mark.

 

Hermione didn’t care one wit about his smell or his boxers.

 

“You’re safe!” she shouted as she flew into Lucius’ damaged arms, upsetting Rose who wailed her fright at the commotion and being squished between them.

“ _Draco, why are you here_…?” Lucius silently mouthed over the head of the distraught witch.

 

Smirking Malfoy-style, the younger man merely pointed to the witch sobbing on the elder Malfoy’s chest. Winking at his father to signal his approval, Draco found his way into the floo and back to his own disaster — a walking terror of a firstborn and a pregnant wife.

 

“Give her to me,” the victor directed as he reached for Rose.

“I’ll keep her until you’ve showered,”

 

His accountant sniffled slower and slower as adrenaline drained from her body.

 

“Don’t apparate in the state your in — you’ll end up in the Thames,” he called out as he dashed into the en-suite.

 

Fifteen minutes of serious cleansing and first aid charms returned an almost normal appearance to Hermione’s boss.

 

“Has Rose eaten?”

 

Two house elves popped in, before she could answer, with a tray of freshly-made baby food for Rose and an assortment of cheeses, artisan breads, fruits and chocolates for the adults. Lucius gave one additional instruction, in a whisper, to the elves before they disappeared. They were back almost instantly then gone for the evening.

 

“She’s every bit as upset with you as I am!” Hermione glared as she guided the crawling infant across her lap and into Lucius’ when he landed beside her on the sofa.

“Drink this.”

“My patience with your orders is at its ebb, Lucius.”

“You’re shaking. I’ve frightened you and that was not my intent, Hermione. Please. Please drink this; it will settle your nerves so you can harangue me in a more civil tone.”

“What is it?” she queried as she leaned forward to take the flute from the tray.

“A mild sedative — kir. Black current with a splash of white wine. Not enough alcohol to disturb your milk, although I think your little one will sleep quite well when she finally goes down for the night.”

“Let’s hope her mother does as well,” his favorite employee deadpanned into her glass.

 

An hour restored calm to the child, who Lucius placed on her blanket on the floor to play, and _almost_ to her mother.

 

“I have returned, as I predicted.”

“What you did was dangerous and unnecessary! You’re too old to act like a teenager dashing off to fight at every provocation!”

“Too old…” came back in a disheartened tone, “and that’s why I felt compelled to handle this my way.” 

“What if something had happened to you!?”

“Would it have mattered so much to you if I had ‘met my match’, Chou?”

 

The loose translation of the nickname was “Favored Pet”.

 

“Yes,” she answered in all seriousness, her eyes shifting between molten anger and loving concern, “it would have, especially to Rose.”

 

At the reminder of the witch who brightened his days, Lucius gazed in Rose’s direction and witnessed a milestone. After months of practice, the little one stood on her own — frowning like her mother as she concentrated — and took three determined steps, reaching out to steady herself on his leg.

 

“Oh my gosh! Lucius! Did you see!? She's  _walking_!”

 

The baby chortled with glee as her favorite playmate swept her into his arms.

 

“That’s my brilliant little witch! We’ll have you casting spells in no time!”

“Da-Da!” the tiny witch called out as she softly slapped her palms against his cheeks.

“No, sweetheart, that’s not —”

“I am ‘Pa-pa’, petite fleur. Can you say ‘Pa-pa’?”

“Lucius…” her mother warned.

“Well, she has to call me _something_ , witch, and I’d prefer to not confuse her when you tell her about her father. Say ‘Pa-pa’ for me and I shall fill your blanket with toys!”

“Lucius! I will NOT have you spoiling her with —”

“Pa… Pa?” the little witch mimicked.

‘You — and Scorpius — are the most brilliant children in Europe. Your ‘Pa-pa’ shall see to your instruction personally.”

 

The doting “Pa-pa” ignored the conflicted mother for some time, playing with the child until Rose drifted off from sheer exhaustion.

 

“I love her as if she were mine. She deserves the best of everything. She makes every day joyous for me.”

“Lucius… what does this mean? You and I…”

“I suppose I can tolerate you for a number of years for Rose’s sake.”

“You’re a prat, Lucius. An emerald-hearted prat…”

 

Hermione laid her head on his shoulder and was asleep in no time. Smiling at his victories this evening, Lucius leaned back after securing Rose and let his battered body relax into slumber…

 

…because, despite his bravado, acting like a teenager played hell on an “old” man’s body.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gang Related Cocktail
> 
> 2 oz Alize® Red Passion liqueur  
> 2 oz Hpnotiq® liqueur  
> 2 oz Hennessy® cognac  
> Pour all three ingredients into a highball glass filled with ice cubes. Works best if you add Hennessey first, then the Alize and Hpnotiq in any order after that. Stir.
> 
>  
> 
> Kir, or Blanc-Cassis, Cocktail
> 
> 1 oz Gabriel Boudier Crème de Cassis  
> 4 oz dry white wine  
> Add the crème de cassis to the bottom of the glass, then top off with wine.


	7. *Lucifer's Tears*

“I’m worried, Draco. He’d _never_ miss this…”

 

Around them at the Burrow, gingers of all shades made noise and had fun in celebration of Rose’s first birthday. Draco’d brought little Scorpius, currently Rose’s _second_ best friend, to give Astoria time with their newest baby, Cissa — named for her grandmother.

 

“Mother. It happened today.”

“ _Merlin's sac_! Why didn’t you  TELL me!?”

“I _wanted_ to; he made me promise…”

“Oh, Draco… I should have asked after you as well; I’m _so_ sorry. How are you holding up?”

“Better than Father. Helps to have a family.”

 

The expression on his face — in those eyes — confused her.

 

“What do you mean? He has you and —.”

“C’mon Granger!” he cut her off, steering her by her elbow away from the party to gain some privacy, “You’re neither that stupid nor that naïve.”

“Draco, I’m not sure I…”

“ _Yes you **are**_. You’re just too much of a coward to do anything about it — or are you NOT the woman who blubbered all over me four months ago that you’d never recover from losing him after he went 'Bloody Baron' all over Poliakov?”

 

Hermione spent some thoughtful minutes analyzing the grass at her feet before speaking.

 

“It was too soon after Ron’s death. Luc’s done so much for me — and for Rose… I wanted… I didn’t want to hurt him… I wasn't sure _what_  I felt or if I just appreciated the huge hole he helped me climb out of.”

“So it’s ‘Luc’, is it? Have you heard from Zabini?”

“Not since I sent my final payment. Why?”

“Bugger! Father will _**butcher**_ his thieving arse for double-dipping when he finds out.”

 

Draco gave Hermione a long look and a resigned sigh before disclosing his long-held confidence.

 

“My father paid Weaslbee’s gambling debt after you found him 430,000 galleons [£2,150,000] in tax savings. For my wife and children’s sake — please don't let on that you know or he’ll butcher me as a warm up.”

 

A perfect circle shaped Hermione's lips into the universal symbol for getting a clue.

 

“He doesn’t know how to move forward but he knows he sure as hell can’t go back. Pretty fucked up situation, if you ask me.”

“She died on my daughter’s birth date…”

“Yeah, a year before to the day…” came raw and rough from deep in his throat.

 

When she ceased contemplating the growth rate of grass trampled everyday by Molly’s grandchildren, Hermione regained Draco’s gaze with a look of determination and trepidation tumbling behind those bark-colored portals into her heart.

 

“I’ll take care of him,” and she left with Draco no wiser about her plan.

 

After a private word with Molly, Ginny and George and a promise from them to keep Rose for as long as required, Hermione floo’d home to pack a small satchel then floo’d to the Manor. An hour later she was no closer to locating the missing Lord of the Manor in a house that felt six times bigger than Hogwarts. 

Finding herself back in the mansion's main foyer, Hermione hurled a fistful of floo powder at the fireplace in pure irritation at her own incompetence and called for Draco.

 

“I can’t find him. I’ve gotten lost in this museum at least twice.”

“He’s probably in my parents’ wing. Here — step through.”

 

Hermione stepped through and found herself in Draco’s study. Scorpius amused himself by banging invisible nails into the floor with a wooden toy hammer, laughing and making an awful racket.

 

“Cissa has colic. Poor Astoria hasn’t slept in weeks.”

“Give me…” and the former medical potioneer reached her entire arm into that ever-expanding purse of hers to retrieve a stoppered bottle.

“One drop before every feeding. It relaxes the abdominal muscle over the stomach that contracts during meals and crying. The baby won’t need it once the spasms subside.”

“Your an angel of mercy! Get ready,” he warned her before shouting “ _Mother’s rooms at the Manor_ ” and pushed the intrepid Gryffindor through before the wards reacted.

 

A shouted “Last door on the left” echoing down the hallway guided her steps.

 

* * *

 

Inside the target door the smell of antiquity and neglect hit her first, quickly followed by the darkness in a room with 8-foot high windows on three of the four walls. Ahead of her, nearly twenty feet away, a fire blazed and created shadows over the wingback chair wherein sat a very morose and very inebriated Lucius Malfoy. 

Setting her bag by the door, Hermione inched her way over to the unoccupied wingback. A flick of her wand tidied the room without disturbing its contents.

 

“Rose missed you today. She kept asking for her ‘ _Pa-pa_ ’.”

“Sorry to have missed the celebration. As you can see I’m… indisposed at the moment.”

 

Usually impeccable in manner and grooming, today the head of the Malfoy dynasty slouched in his chair — a disheveled mess. 

Easily three days of stubble darkened his porcelain complexion as did the limp, slightly oily hair hanging loosely in his face. From where she sat downwind of him, Hermione guessed he hadn’t changed clothes during the three-day shaving hiatus nor had he bathed during the same period. Six empty bottles of something lethal stood neatly lined up on the floor; the seventh made its way to the adjacent table after he poured two long shots.

 

“Here,” and he passed Hermione her glass.

“What is it?”

“I won’t poison you, Hermione, despite my desire to expose our Rose to a better class of children.”

 

It was an semi-old joke between them, a reminder of how far their differences had come.

 

“It’s a muggle creation — ouzo. Nectar of the gods from Greece. Throw it back; don’t sip it or it will burn like FiendFyre.”

 

She ignored him and paid the price, coughing and spluttering until the pain passed. Potent like a well-brewed _Felix Felicis_  potion, the little ouzo the stubborn witch imbibed spread instantly through her blood to her extremities.

 

“What brings you? Problem at the clubs?”

“I’m worried about you...”

 

Sad grey eyes — amber-tinted with reflected red-orange hues from the fire — stared at the anesthetic in his glass before setting it aside on the table and leaning back into the cushions.

 

“It’s an inauspicious day for me, really… Yet I can’t seem to move on. I’m sure you understand…”

 

Two month ago Hermione “called” in sick for the first time since joining the firm. Twelve months prior she’d been an expectant mother, wailing in a heap on the floor of her home with her best friend’s arms around her as he related the news of the death of her first and only love. Lucius listened to her crying for a full six seconds before stepping through the floo and into the sitting room of her small cottage near Ottery St. Catchpole.

 

> _He’d found her on the floor, curled in a ball around herself, while their Rose screamed in frustration and terror at her mother’s non-response. The child’s needs propelled Lucius into the small nursery. He’d rescued his precious “Bella” from her cot and taken her into the sitting room where she could at least see her mummy, the baby's hitches and whimpers calming very little._
> 
> _Once Rose settled, he’d bullied, shamed and cajoled Hermione into seeing after the only thing Ron truly left behind. Angered at her surrender to grief, he’d reminded her that somewhere in the world someone dealt with pain and loss every single day but still managed to_ _live_ _. When she hesitated, he pulled the pin and lobbed the emotional grenade directly at her with his well-practiced sneer on his face:_
> 
> “Is it your intent to starve your child so she can join her **dead** **father**?”
> 
> _Hermione responded with violence, attacking him while he shielded Rose from her punches and verbal vitriol. When she’d exhausted herself, he’d carefully handed the baby to her and helped Hermione lift her blouse to comfort her daughter with a feed._

 

They never spoke on it.

 

“What do you want, Lucius?” she questioned, soft as goose-down blanketing a steel fist.

“I don’t understand…”

“Yes you do. Do you want to die and join your wife? Do you want to continue as you are now, pantomiming suicide once a year? Do you want to _live_ — have a wife, more children? What do you want?”

“I haven’t —”

“Don’t lie to me; you _have_ thought about it. Enough to teach Rose to call you ‘Pa-pa’ which means ‘father’. ‘Pépé’ means ‘grandfather’; much more suitable to a man who desires a more distant role.”

“I have a grandson who calls me Pépé.”

“— and a daughter who calls you ‘Daddy’ in French. What do you want, Lucius?”

 

Rising, Hermione moved to stand in front of him then lowered herself to kneel before him. 

 _So lovely..._ he considered, desire and loneliness captured in his tired expression,  _and so beyond my reach..._

 

“I want…" he tried, "I _want_ …”

 

The normally articulate Slytherin stuttered out an incomplete answer, unable to beg for what he craved.

 

“ _Tell_ me. Don’t run away from me.”

 

The pity in her eyes scalded him.

 

“NO!” he roared suddenly, hurling the glass and remnant of the alcohol into the flames.

 

Silently Hermione rose, tugging the melancholy aristocrat up with her and dragging him into the flat-sized en-suite to clean him up. Ignoring his outburst, she approached the sunken tub (big enough to swim laps in) and fiddled with the controls until the charm automagically filled the enclosure once he entered its confines. 

Approaching the statue resembling Lucius Malfoy, his compassionate interventionist stifled a sigh; not one stitch of his foul clothing had left his smelly body while she puzzled out the spigot control charm. 

Wrinkling her nose to communicate to her host his absolute need for cleansing, Hermione reached up and undid the button at his collar, expecting to be stopped. Only his eyes reacted, their expression of pain and defeat provoking empathy and irritation in her in equal amounts. She continued until his shirt fell from his shoulders and floated to the floor.

Lucius Malfoy stood before her covered in chest hair, resembling one of Tolkien's "hobbits" in many ways, and her desire to touch it — run her hands through it — overcame her good sense after the ouzo. She ran her fingers through the fine strands and across his chest, moaning at the feel of tethered silk in her palms.

 

“I lack my normal control, witch. Your touch could be dangerous…” he warned, too distracted to manage pulling her hands away.

“You’re safe with me.”

“But you may not be safe with me. _Please_ … _Stop_.”

“Alright.” she acquiesced, cushioning his psyche in the steady gaze of those milk-chocolate calmatives she called eyes.

 

Without further ado Hermione’s hands moved to his trousers, undoing the buttons (Lucius maintained that zippers were a constant danger to his favorite body part and too uncivilized for his taste) and spreading the placket wider to allow the fabric’s weight to pull them off his slender hips and down around his ankles. To arrest the protest rising in his chest, she snatched his boxers down, squatting to untangle them and his trousers from his uncooperative feet.

The torso and legs of the man were  _covered_  all sides 'round in white-blonde down, curling ever so slightly and soft like a newborn’s hair — especially around the base of that proud organ waving gently at attention, heedless of the amount of alcohol he’d consumed in the last days.

 

“ _Oh my stars…_ ”

 

She mortified him with her unrepentant examination of his equipment.

 

“It’s a sign of poor breeding to _stare_. Your further interference is neither necessary nor welcome. I have been bathing myself for some time.”

“Not today. I’d prefer you not drown or slip and hurt something vital. Get in, please.”

“You are the most stubborn, most annoying, most —”

“ _Yes, yes_ , Lucius; I know. Now get into that damn swimming pool. Do you prefer flannel or a sponge?”

 

A soft, monogrammed cloth — easily four inches square and the same ruby hue as his boxers — floated over, as did a tall, narrow pump bottle of liquid body wash. The scent from the bottle,  _his_ scent, stuck the crotch of her knickers to her nether hair.

After parking both bathing items on the ledge rimming the bath, Hermione methodically removed her outer clothing to avoid being drenched. From his reclined position in the tub, Lucius groaned at the sight of her matching bra and knicker set in deep gold with silver embroidery. The suds over his groin, a result of the bubble bath the bathtub jet added, swirled as his stiff, bobbing rod stirred them from its position underwater.

Her plan had her sitting on the edge of the tub to improve her reach to the most offending parts of him. Stink removal would be accomplished with good, old fashioned soap and scrubbing. But the plan failed on execution when the water lapped up onto her (thanks to a surreptitious finger wave by the wily Lord of the Manor) and nearly drenched her knickers. Resigned to being naked, Hermione reached behind to unfasten her bra and removed her matching lingerie.

 

“I’m not letting this get wet. This set cost me a bloody fortune. Don’t get any ideas, Lucius.”

“I believe I pay you a bloody fortune.” he chuckled — the first sign his depression hadn’t won.

“All of which I’ve put away for Rose. Look the other way.”

“I will NOT! This is MY —”

 

Laughing at the old lecher's outrage distracted him until she’d scooted four steps down while he ranted. Water covered her now to the shoulders, blocking his view of her.

 

“Much better. Relax, Lucius.”

 

After transferring copious squirts from the body wash bottle to the cloth, the flannel hydroplaned across his shoulders, neck and chest, riding a cushion of rich, thick gel. Plowing the soft fabric through the luxuriant hairs on his torso, the amused witch threatened to take a comb to it when Lucius attempted to take over. 

Holding his arm at the wrist brought her attention to the slenderness of the joint itself and the tight musculature of his biceps. Hermione scrubbed each clean, finishing with the copse of fine, white hair under his arms that still carried his essential male scent after washing. 

 

“Scoot forward.”

“I do **not** take direction from the hired help,” he muttered — at which Hermione laughed louder and Lucius scowled.

“I need,” she informed him as she rose to stand above him — unabashedly naked, “to get to your back.”

 

One upward look at her drained any objection; the uncomfortable area between his legs swelled further. Suds and sheeting water did nothing to hide her womanly form, youthful yet curvaceous and soft from childbearing not two years ago.

 

“ _You are breathtaking_ …” he confessed on an exhalation, mouth agape and eyes blatant in their ogling.

“Thank you. You, on the other hand, are still ‘gamey’, as my grandfather would call it. Scoot!” and he did, making room between his body and the tub wall.

 

Her breasts, against his nearly hairless back, raised his discomfort level up-front as she leaned in to scrub at his nape and to wash his hair. Leaning against her as she reclined behind him undid his emotional shield.

 

“ _It’s been so long since someone touched me_ …”

“Can’t be helped —”

“— _so innocently…_ ”

 

She’d misread the admission and the man.

 

“Sit forward, please, so I can get up.”

 

Again she gained her feet and moved without haste or embarrassment to sit facing him, her legs folded under her.

Grasping his right leg at the ankle, she pushed the cloth towards his thigh, increasing the pressure as the muscle thickened under her hand. His level of fitness surprised her; nothing about him _felt_ “old” or “decrepit” in the slightest. Scrubbing the brawny underside of his upper leg contracted a few of her own muscles and brought Draco’s words back:

 

" _You’re too much of a coward to do anything about it…_ "

 _Ron?…_ she sent in a whisper, _We love him… He’s good to us…_

 

When the room around her didn’t spontaneous combust at her incomplete request for permission to love a " _bloody_ **_Malfoy!_** ", Hermione took it as a sign that her first love had accepted her choice. George, Molly and Ginny had bestowed their own blessings at the party, consenting to mind Rose until Hermione resolved their romantic situation.

Upon finishing off his second leg, Hermione soaped her hands (hoping the gel’s thickness would withstand submersion into the warm water) and found the satiny hair at the anchor of that magnificent Malfoy third leg. Splayed fingers, much shorter than his own, detangled his thatch until his hands stopped her.

Strong beyond even her reckoning, Lucius lifted and turned her, in a single motion, until she landed facing away from him in his lap. His erection nestled itself comfortably against the crease in her soft bottom.

 

“While I appreciate your concern, what ails me cannot be cured with a pity fuck.”

“ _Why_ ,” she queried, turning sideways and leaning back to capture his gaze, “would you think I’d do _that_?”

“Because… Because I’ve become pitiable in your eyes. If memory serves in my _dotage_ , your words were ‘ _You’re too old to act like a teenager, dashing off to fight at every provocation_ ’,” he repeated verbatim.

 

The night of the Poliakov intervention…

 

“That’s not what I _meant_ , Lucius. I meant that I’m seldom attracted to men who act like boys —”

“— except your ‘ _Ronald_ ’?”

“— except my Ronald. His gambling addiction nearly destroyed us. Thanks to my generous wages, I’ve paid Blaise Zabini the rest of what I owed.”

“ ** _WHAT_**!?” the seething Slytherin thundered from behind her.

“I paid him off — he settled for 20,000 galleons and my engagement ring.”

“You shall have it back, Hermione; every bauble and every sickle. I promise you I’ll deal with that back-stabbing Italian _fucker_ in good time.”

 

Lucius’d gone flaccid with the tirade, his thoughts of slowly torturing the casino owner to an excruciating death dancing behind those stormy nimbus-silver eyes. To distract his anger, Hermione wiggled her bottom against him enticingly and continued her clarification of those clearly hurtful words.

 

“I’m actually more attracted to the thoughtful, calculating type. You shocked me when you went off half cocked to deal with the Poliakovs **alone**.”

 

Through their skin-to-skin contact, Hermione bore witness to his struggle for control. When calm breathing and half a hard-on returned, he spoke again.

 

“At the Manor,” he whispered — shamed by the memory, “The Dark L-… Voldemort took my wand from me. He rendered me _helpless_ to protect my family… my home. He **_castrated_** me magically while Cissa... Draco and the others — my **_peers_** _— watched_ …”

 

Color drained from her face and neck and a quick shudder snapped her head to one side like a muscle tic. Behind her, his chest heaved like a bellows for moments before he went on.

 

“Never will another take what’s mine without consequences. And they will KNOW beyond DOUBT that they have crossed the wrong wizard…”

“Promise me you won’t kill Blaise. It was Ronald’s choice, after all, to wager money we didn’t have. And it was my obligation to repay it, Lucius, not yours.”

 

Twisting her gently to ensure she looked directly at him, he repeated his words.

 

“ _Never_ will another take what’s  mine. You belong to me, Hermione… You and our Rose…”

 

Lucius captured her lips, tilting her chin slightly upward with two fingers and rotating her head enough to give him access. Hot, soft flesh nipped small portions of her lips until they plumped, their swelling mimicking the change going on at her more southerly “lips”. Barely a second after contact Hermione acknowledged a “drowning” feeling as sensations throughout her body bombarded her brain. What reason remained to her accepted that she’d given herself to a man experienced in the art of romance, seduction and sex.

Her wizened suitor wrapped himself around her from behind, his arms criss-crossing the front of her. Cupping her breast in his palms freed his thumbs to delicately press on her nipples while moving them in small circles. Her moan disturbed the kiss and the water.

 

“I’ll abide no charity from you. I’m a man and I will take you as a man does.”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

“You are an _incorrigible_ vixen sent to torment me since Voldemort failed miserably.”

“ _You_ are an overly talkative wizard. You have me at your mercy — what do you intend to do to me?”

 

His countenance bore an intense seriousness that required some sort of resolution.

 

“What???” she barked out at his studied hesitation.

“I’ll not have you regret this and sneak away as I sleep. Nor will I be a meaningless dalliance to satisfy an itch of yours that’s not been scratched in over a year. I am courting you with all intent to wed as soon as possible. I will be your husband and Rose’s pa-pa and I’ll settle for nothing less. Be sure, Hermione. If you try to leave me after this night, I will destroy you before I’ll see another man’s hands on you and, in so doing, destroy myself.”

 

Her tender gaze had him anxious and then afraid as she hadn’t answered.

 

“Is that your way of saying you love us?”

“Gods of Caerleon! Have you not subjugated me sufficiently? Did I not just say that?”

 

Light laughter jiggled her soft bottom against his straining cock causing him to groan deep in his chest.

 

“Far too eloquently for a simple witch.”

“That’s pre _posterous_! You’re a legendary magic-wielder and a _brilliant_ woman in your own right!”

“Thank you, but I need to hear the words, Lucius.”

 

A huff escaped the petulant Lord of the Manor.

 

“Will life with you always be this… **_challenging_** , witch?”

“I’d like to think I’ll keep you interested and… _engaged_ ," — then love comes softly as she says — "It matters, Lucius.”

 

To her surprise and dismay (as she feared the feeling of flying), Lucius levitated her above the water until his feet held him upright in the bath. He then carried her, bridal-style, through a different door and into his chambers. By the time he lay her down, both were dry from head to heel and the covers had folded themselves neatly at the bed’s bottom.

Climbing into the bed — and _onto_ her — from the foot of the four-poster monster, her suitor made sure their eyes met before capitulating to her soft-spoken request.

 

“I shall love you in the flesh, and in portrait, for eternity. And with that you have a decision to make. Having your body will never satisfy me. I must have your mind and heart as well.”

“I love you. I’m yours. Rose has already claimed you… ‘ _Pa-pa_ ’.”

“It’s about time. Should we discuss family size now or later?”

“I wasn’t planning to best Molly Weasley.”

“Then we’ll keep it to five,”

 

— and his mouth descended to her breast, sucking from the fullness there.

 

* * *

 

“Sweet Morgaine, Lucius! What are you doing to me?”

 

Not one intelligible word escaped his lips while they tantalized her breast, savoring her sweet milk as his prize. Satisfied that he’d refocused her head on love-making, Lucius set about distinguishing the efforts of an inexperienced boy from those of a skilled sexual connoisseur. The distraction of his mouth creating sensations totally different than those of feeding Rose gave Lucius the opportunity to shift positions; “stepping” with his knees, he moved his lower half to the side of her. The besotted “older” man now had full access to the area below her navel.

At a pace that had Hermione whinging for “more”, her new beau kissed his way down the center of her torso, alternating slight nips with his teeth and pattern-drawings of the ouroborous with his tongue  — the Malfoy crest’s snake eating its own tail — on her fevered skin. Her responses communicated her enormous inexperience in having a lover with a plan.

A kiss and a lick to her navel — followed quickly by a toothy nip to each of her hips — and he found himself buried face-first in the curly nest of brunette hair at the join of her thighs.

Thank Morgaine, the wizard smiled, that his witch appreciated the markings of womanhood as much as he did. The few times he’d run into women — always 20-somethings — whose nether regions looked like a young boy’s because they’d _shaved_ themselves _there_ (of all places), he’d lost “interest”, dropped a few galleons on the bed-stand for the Knight Bus and apparated away without further conversation or explanation. Enthralled with his new playground, Lucius indulged by dropping his face into the her private meadow and just…

 

Breathing…

 

Huge intakes of breath through the nose and mouth shocked the witch into rising to her elbows.

 

“Luc? Wh-Wh-What are you doing?”

“I’m about to slake my thirst with your nectar. One should always fill one’s nostrils prior to enjoying the repast.”

“I’m not sure that’s a g-g-good idea…”

 

Swiveling his head in her direction, Lucius processed the hesitation on her face: she’d never been pleasured this way.

 

Bad choices during the war aside, Lord Malfoy's' analytical skills rivaled the best. Right this moment he balanced explaining his plan to her (for the hours and hours she would interrogate him) against diving unannounced into her “flowerbed” and letting her sensual side handle the outcome.

When his folded tongue rode the petals, ridges and bumps between the edge of her opening and the top of her bud, Hermione’s eyes rolled up in her head, her eyelids crashed shut and her head rocked backwards to open her throat for the near scream the sensation elicited —

 

“Merlin! That's feels so _**good**_!!”

 

Licking and lapping at her in a steady rhythm had Hermione rocking her hips into and away from that indescribable pleasure. She and Ron had maintained a regular schedule of enjoyable but fairly vanilla love-making — then she got pregnant and sick and uninterested in sex of any kind.

 

“Enjoying the ‘sport’, Chaton?”

 

Her newest nickname translated as “Kitten”, a playful allusion to her Gryffindor house mascot and to her ownership of an ill-behaved but beloved half-kneazle that ruined the cuffs on three separate pairs of Lucius’ linen trousers by raising his leg and ignoring the litter box not two feet away.

 

“Oh, Circe! I promise I’ll never cheat and give this up!” she moaned as her “education” advanced.

 

Vibrations transferred to her tender flesh from his smirking laughter catapulted her off the bed. Lucius exploited her investment in the goings on by inserting first one finger then two more to stretch her very tight tunnel. Delivering Rose did nothing to permanently widen Hermione’s passageway. 

Given she’d gone more than a year without _any_ penetration, Lucius executed his “Virgin Protocol” for her comfort: he’d not enter her until she threatened to hex his balls off if he delayed further.

Flattening the pad of his fingertips against an area three inches into her channel, Lucius sought the elusive “G spot”. Stroking lightly while his tongue kept up its quality work on the petal-like flesh north of his fingersh soon located the desired target. 

 

“Lucius — I think-I think…”

 

She couldn't think — not with that tongue touching her that way.

 

His efforts were met with a suddenly tighter glove squeezing his fingers together as rhythmic contractions undulated up and down the inserted digits. Steady lapping up of the juices released around those fingers brought another intense reaction from her, bolting her upright as she screamed her climax.

 

“Don’t-don’t-don’t stop! C-C-Coming!

 

At a measured rate, Hermione’s swain climbed her body to situate himself over the cradle formed by her hips as her climatic contractions intensified. Having expanded her sensual universe, her paramour confidently aimed himself at her entrance and let his greater weight sink his suffering phallus into her, taking the time to ensure her readiness after so long an intermission. Bracing on one elbow left an arm free to caress the exposed side of her breast beneath his chest where they lay pressed tighter together and to play with her trademark.

 

Her long, wavy, gorgeous hair...

 

Sometime after her marriage, Hermione applied those prodigious potion skills to taming the chaos attached to that brilliant head. The result had caused priapism in Soleil's Managing Partner for the past six months. As Hermione found satisfaction in the slow descent of his sizable assets inside of her, her partner indulged his secret fetish — dragging his hand through her loose curls and whimpering at the reaction they caused much lower on his body. With regret, he forced himself to leave off any further hair-play lest he lose himself inside her like an "old" man.

His consolation prize for his restraint saw him kissing her breasts once more, nuzzling at the nipples. Each pillbox contrasted starkly to her skin, much darker than he would’ve suspected and much larger than he’d assumed breastfeeding would cause. The fleshy part fit perfectly in his hand which he took full advantage of, kneading and caressing the globe with glancing touches. Her applied scent wafted up to intoxicate him from the valley between her breasts, the hollow at the juncture of her neck and the crease just below her earlobes. 

For her part, above and beyond her obvious responses, Hermione sought to communicate her love through touch. Lucius experienced the world from a distance, usually buttoned from head to toe in robes. His intense response to her ministrations in the tub informed her choice to just touch him in ways more approachable men would consider mundane. She ran her hands repeatedly through the hair on his chest, concentrating on keeping some pressure in her strokes, and was rewarded with his shivers, his gooseflesh and the most movingly murmured “thank you”’s she’d ever received. In short order she discovered a few secrets of her own about the man she’d build their future with.

It was a struggle not to fixate on those pale, champagne-colored nipples of his. The hint of a touch tightened them in a manner that looked almost painful. Her brief investigation discovered that he preferred a firm flick to lighter touches and he purred like Crooks when she sucked or licked them.

Free rein did not include his hair; he preferred her hands elsewhere. Lucius responded far more enthusiastically when she ran a single finger back and forth over his nape. Rubbing her palm across the hairs on the back of his neck induced a change in his rhythm inside her and energetic grunting as he sought deeper penetration while under the thrall of her hands in that locale. Hermione used that information later on to “move him along” when his uncanny stamina — coupled with her prior cascade of climaxes — would’ve rendered her unconscious if she hadn’t encouraged his completion.

Both gave kissing serious attention, Lucius’ focusing on her more well-known erogenous zones. Hermione explored more subtle destinations — his cheeks (which reddened under her lips), his throat, his forehead and the inside curve of his ears.

Both lovers acquired a wealth of information on the pleasuring of the other during this first joining, applying the knowledge immediately after discovery. So both found themselves riding downhill towards the sexual terminus at a rapid rate. Leaning back on his haunches, Lucius pistoned deeply into his partner while the knuckle of his index finger tracked up and down her incredibly swollen nubbin, pushing her towards bliss yet again. When he bent forward for another taste of her lips, her hands found his nape and worshipped it like only a supplicant can.

 

“Release me, witch, or I’ll spill before you’re finished.”

“I’ve finished about ten times! Let go for me, sweetheart.”

 

The combination of his talent, her hands, his desire, her plea, his efforts and her love culminated in the one-two punch of ultimate release for both. 

 

“Luc, I can’t… I feel… LUC!…”

“By Arthur’s Gods, you’ve sucked the marrow from me!”

 

Liquid warmth spread up and through her insides as his seed searched for its elusive partner in the hopes of achieving more than physical satiation. The future would reveal if both outcomes occurred from their joint explosions and the release of a stream of sticky Malfoy gel within her. Minutes passed before either could be said to be “finished”.

After three hours of consuming each other, the lovers arranged themselves comfortably, Lucius still more than half-hard and embedded in his witch, and slept.

Two hours later a sleepy readjustment in position encouraged a brief but meaningful conversation…

 

“Luc?” 

 

Hermione’s call barely escaped her satiated yawn.

 

“Hmmm?”

 

Physically satisfied for the first time since before the war, “Luc” (a nickname he would only later admit he loathed — even from her) only managed a chesty hum in response, hopeful that she’d cozy up against him and return to slumbering.

 

“Did you cast the charm? I don’t take any contraceptive potions.”

 

Turning to spoon her, Lucius stopped a moment to relieve an itch on his arse cheek then engulfed her once more with his body.

 

“According to St. Mungo’s I am sterile. Result of pure-blood inbreeding. I shall have to spoil our little Rose as I did Draco before she leaves us for school.”

 

His answer fell on deaf ears — sleep reclaimed her before the echo of her own voice dissipated in the suite.

 

* * *

 

Four hours after their lengthy consummation, Hermione awoke to a conversation happening within her hearing but without her participation. Her breasts were swollen with a familiar ache; Rose’s bedtime feed was fast approaching. Stretching silently under the covers in a strange bed, she cocked an ear to listen as awareness of her location slowly arrived in her still drowsy brain.

 

“Happy birthday, Bella. Your pa-pa is sorry for missing such a special day — truly bad manners on my part. Did those plebeians treat you well or do I have to hex them? You’re a brilliant witch like your mummy — yes you are; you’ll have those ginger cretins under your thumb by your third birthday and I, for one, can’t wait to teach you the spells to do so. Your big brother, Draco, will show you how to fly a broom and to play Quidditch and to charm sweets from your mother’s hiding places in her office. I’ll see that you have a wonderful life, little one.”

 

From her peeking place under the sheet, Rose’s mother fought for control of her giggles as Lucius “indoctrinated” their daughter in the finer points of “Malfoy” arrogance. Rose lay on his shoulder, one hand’s fingers in her mouth and the other’s playing in his hair.

 

“I’ll have the final say on flying and sweets, Lucius.”

“And the banshee awakes…”

“That’s not what you called me a few hours ago.”

“Not in front of the child, Hermione!”

 

Bracing her palms against the thick mattress, Hermione navigated herself to a sitting position, resting her back on the ornate hardwood headboard.

 

“Let me have her.”

 

Lucius abandoned his chair and lowered Rose into her mother’s outstretched arms when he reached the bed. The tired little witch latched on easily — her mother remained “au natural” — and nursed herself quickly to sleep.

 

“I’ll get you a gown.”

“Why?” she teased the clearly discomfited wizard, “Do I need to cover up?”

“Rose is here —”

“Is she staying here tonight?” Hermione poked innocently.

 

Lucius wasn’t fooled.

 

“I missed most of her birthday — which, of course, I take full responsibility for. I owe her some time…”

“Have you prepared the nursery for her?”

 

The Malfoy nursery, which her whole cottage would fit into, was once more in use after Scorpius’ birth.

 

“She should stay here tonight… with us. This will be her home…”

“She needs a clean nappy and a sleeping gown.”

 

The words were no sooner spoken than Bitsy “popped” in with a baby bag.

 

“Bitsy will look after young Miss Malfoy, Miss.”

“She’ll need a bath, if you don’t mind?…”

 

Lucius gagged as Hermione lifted the sleeping child and sniffed the likely sources of odor. Gryffindor's princess handed Rose over to the house elf with a grateful “Thank you” and received the strangest grimace-of-a-smile she’d witnessed in her elf-witch interactions.

 

“Come, little Miss. Bitsy will get your dragon toy for your bath, she will.”

 

Hermione’s expression — one eyebrow lifted in disapproval — wasn’t lost on Lucius.

 

“Lucius? What dragon bath toy in this mansion is Rose familiar with? And **_why_** _?_ ”

 

Old Slytherin habits die hard in maturing pure-blood former Death Eaters.

 

“I’m sure I have no idea,” he lied effortlessly.

 

Before she read him the riot act, Bitsy floo’d into the bedroom.

 

“The little Miss is sleeping,” she announced as she transferred a cleaned and sweet-smelling Rose to her master.

 

Deftly, Lucius put Rose in the middle of the bed and climbed in behind her. Now that his daughter dozed safely between them, the head of the Malfoy dynasty drifted off and considered that his life couldn’t possibly get better…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer’s Tears Cocktail
> 
> 1 1/2 oz gin  
> 1 tsp Galliano® herbal liqueur  
> 1 splash creme de myrtille  
> 1/2 tsp black sambuca  
> 1 splash Strega® herbal liqueur
> 
> Stir and strain all but blueberry liqueur into glass, then dribble blueberry liqueur over top.
> 
>  
> 
> Ouzo
> 
> Ouzo is an anise-flavoured aperitif that is widely consumed in Greece and Cyprus. Ouzo can also be drunk straight from a shot glass.  Ouzo can be described to have a similar taste to absinthe which is liquorice-like, but smoother. Ouzo production begins with distillation in copper stills of 96 percent alcohol by volume (ABV) rectified spirit. Anise is added, sometimes with other flavorings such as star anise, fennel, mastic, kakoulas (ginger cress), coriander, cloves, and cinnamon are also added. The result is a flavored alcoholic solution known as flavored ethyl alcohol. _Wikipedia_


	8. Baby Mama Drama - An Epilogue of Sorts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments. They are appreciated. If I missed replying to yours, thump me again with another comment.

“Lucius! _ Lucius Malfoy, you come down here this instan_t! **LUCIUS**!”

 

Her cardie and wellies magically streaked to the hidden wardrobe and coat racks along the walls of the foyer in Malfoy Manor as the Lady of the house stormed in.

The sound of doors slamming echoed through the cavernous center hallway as a very irate witch sought the source of her anger. Six doors later she’d spied her target in his study playing on the floor with their daughter.

 

“Bitsy!”

 

That name on those lips got his attention. Lucius dared to stare at her in dread of her purpose.

 

“Yes, Miss?” the caring elf asked, waiting patiently for instructions.

“Please take Rose to her nursery and entertain her until dinner. Lord Malfoy and I have some business to discuss.”

 

After much deliberation between Lucius and Draco, both agreed to renovate Narcissa’s suite (adjoining Lucius’) into a nursery for Rose and to repurpose one of guest rooms closer to Draco’s suite for similar use by Scorpius and baby Cissa. Narcissa’s rooms were moved — exactly as they’d been — into the old nursery suite further down the family wing.

 

“Yes, Miss.”

 

Sensing the storm (her mistress’ normally impeccable manners nowhere to be seen), Bitsy grabbed Rose as she toddled by and apparated to the newly renovated nursery.

 

“Will I survive this?”

“The jury is still out on that one.”

“Is it something I said?”

“And did!”

“While I’m enjoying this stimulating game of ‘Guess Why Hermione’s Murderously Vexed’, we’d get to my public flogging more quickly if you’d tell me what’s angered you.”

 

Stomping forward until they were nose-to-chest, Lady Malfoy made no efforts to modulate her tone or volume.

 

“Guess where I spent my day?”

“Given your mood, would it be at Ms. Parkinson’s?”

 

Hermione frequently wished the two-faced b… witch would emigrate to Hell but that solution wouldn’t solve her problem. Pansy Parkinson Goyle married Draco’s best friend, Gregory. Plantagenet Parkinson, her father, and Lucius had been friends since both wore knee pants. Contact was inevitable.

 

“No — St. Mungo’s. _Care to guess why_?”

 

She’d initially gone to interview for the head position in the expanded Medical Potions department. Hermione and her new husband had argued vigorously over her decision to leave off working in the family business after they married and return to full-time employment elsewhere. No Malfoy wife in history (he'd bellowed loud enough to send the house elves apparating to the kitchens) had **ever** worked outside the family firm and he'd have his male bits cursed off before he'd let her diverge that far from tradition.

Hermione had smiled, wickedly, and offered to kiss his bits a final farewell — expressing her _regrets_ on losing something she enjoyed so thoroughly.

 

“Some illness?”

 

A few galleons spread carefully amongst his best patrons brought back tidbits of information on Hermione’s earlier efforts at the hospital and solidified Lucius’ own “full-time” employment expectations for his bride. She _had_ married a Slytherin, all things considered.

 

“Yes and no. Apparently, you’re not sterile.”

 

Alabaster skin still managed to further whiten at the implication dangling in the air. Lucius closed the distance between them and swept her up and into the floo. When Hermione’s stomach stopped churning, she recognized their bedroom. Unwilling to release her, Lucius claimed the chaise lounge, snugging her back so tightly to his front that she couldn’t escape.

 

“You’re _**expecting**_!?”

“Yes — and it only took you SIX  _ **WEEKS**_!”

 

His cock twitched underneath all those buttons in his pants. The idea of his baby in her belly was causing issues best handled _later_ when his wife cooled off. Her temper, and her magic when angry, were the stuff of legends.

 

“You can’t possibly think that I planned any of this, Hermione. I gave you the facts as I understood them.”

 

Air whooshed out of him as her punch landed dead center of his solar plexus.

 

“The _FACTS_ not the **TRUTH**! A healer named Armstrong showed up; St. Mungo’s called him in for my mandatory employment physical when they heard my ‘new’ last name.”

 

Six weeks ago Hermione Jean Granger Weasley Malfoy became the new Lady of the Manor. Unwilling to give her time to change her mind, Lucius scheduled a small wedding with family and friends for two weeks after Rose’s birthday.

 

“Ever heard of _Armstrong_?”

 

Daring him to lie, Hermione’s death stare had Lucius perspiring — or was it the intensifying arousal associated with her news?

 

“The name has some familiarity.”

“It **should**! He’s been the Malfoy’s personal healer since **YOU** were born!”

“It’s coming to me now…”

“Healer Armstong **SWEARS** he told you that the problem was **you** and **Narcissa** together — **_not you and anyone else_**! I should have **KNOWN** you were lying after that ‘family size’ question! Why plan a family when you’re **STERILE**!”

“I thought you Gryffindors were the optimistic type.”

 

In anticipation that this discussion could last a while, Lucius made himself comfortable and pulled Hermione closer as he did so.

 

“Do you want my child?”

 

The fear and pleading written in his eyes could not be mistaken.

 

“ _ **Of COURSE,**_ you **idiot**! It's _**OURS**_!”

“Then your ill treatment of me relates to?…”

 

The smug grin on his face explained a great deal — including the generous check he’d be sending George Weasley for that “special” honeymoon potion the surviving Weasley twin "suggested" during the wedding reception. The _blue_ one.

 

“You KNEW this would happen!”

“Not at all. I hoped it would. Now answer my question: what has you so upset?”

 

That answer eluded capture in her head for quite some time while her mouth gaped open in anticipation of its arrival. When her thoughts aligned, she relaxed into his embrace before expressing her upset.

 

“Starting a family is something we should have discussed!”

“We did.”

 

She raised up to make sure her incredulous expression registered with the lying git.

 

“ ** _When_**!?”

“I asked you about family size and we decided on five.”

“ **YOU** decided and that was ‘ _how many_ ’ not ‘ **when** ’!”

“It’s neither here nor there. We have the resources and commitment to give this child everything it could possibly desire. Bella will gain a sibling and playmate near her own age. Why wait?”

“I’m not unhappy, I just… I wish I’d had a choice. I meant to go back to potions-making...” 

“Unnecessary as you are the Chief Financial Officer for our newest subsidiary — Malfoy Entertainment. I’m sure the Chief Executive can be bribed into restoring your position — or _positions_ depending on how soundly our daughter sleeps.”

 

She scowled at him.

 

“I was getting Rose weaned —”

“Too soon, in my opinion.”

 

She ignored him.

 

“I’ve lost the last of my pregnancy weight. 

“You’re a stunning woman and have been at every point in the last year. Larger breasts can be mutually beneficial.”

 

She stared at him in mock outrage.

 

“I was looking forward to sampling those overpriced cocktails we serve. Now I’ll have to drink —”

 

His next question cut her plaint off.

 

“What’s you’re favorite flavor — some secret, guilty pleasure you indulge in that none of your family or friends know about?”

 

Hermione considered this, eyes darting as if to see if someone would catch her admitting to such a thing. When a pure Slytherin grin spread across her face, Lucius silently celebrated his victory.

 

“Anise and Licorice. Can’t stop myself.”

“Excellent! Give me a moment…” and with a snap of his fingers, his portable (and rather impressive) drinks trolley materialized in their suite and rolled itself against the wall.

 

The wizard’s dextrous hands danced in the air and ingredient after ingredient poured itself as he prepared her custom cocktail. In a mere pixie’s breath a short tumbler levitated before her.

 

“I can’t, Lucius…”

 

The cocktail glass nudged insistently at her hand.

 

“Why not?” he asked, clearly teasing about her gravid state and his contribution to it, “Do taste this; I’m considering adding it to our menu if you like it.”

 

Too exhausted to further punish him for her predicament, Hermione sipped the newest recipe.

 

“It’s brilliant! What’s it called?”

“Soleil. The virgin version. Anise and lychee syrup in purified water with a splash of lemon juice. And a dropper each of anise liqueur and lychee liqueur — less than the total amount of alcohol in the apothecary’s morning sickness potion.”

“When did you dream this up? And how do you know what’s in that potion?”

“The morning after you and Rose claimed me.”

 

The answer to her potion question was his silent “Don’t be stupid” expression.

 

“Why? What inspired you?”

 

How those beautiful mahogany-brown eyes of hers managed to control his nervous system would take decades to figure out.

 

“Don’t be coy; you know you’re the inspiration for my best ideas. Will you indulge me and have something to eat? Our child is captive to your choices”

“Children.”

“I-I-I beg your p-pardon?”

“We’re expecting twins. One of each.”

 

At that revelation, Lucius grinned like a Cheshire cat, smothering his witch in a hug.

 

“It is SO good to be me right now.”

 

Accepting that he’d only change so much for her, Mrs. Malfoy buried her nose in the hollow of his neck and sighed with satisfaction and stoicism —

 

“Pure-blood prat…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BabyMama Drama Cocktail
> 
> 1/2 oz 99 Bananas® banana schnapps  
> 1/2 oz Bacardi® 151 rum  
> 1/2 oz Stoli® Strasberi vodka  
> 1/2 oz pineapple juice
> 
> Mix 99 bananas, pineapple juice, and Stoli with ice. Strain into test tube, float 151.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Soleil Cocktail
> 
> 1 oz. Anise liqueur  
> 1 oz. lychee liqueur  
> Splash of lemon juice.
> 
> Combine all the ingredients in a shaker with ice. Shake well and serve in chilled martini glasses. Garnish with mint leaves and lycee.

**Author's Note:**

> The sun will find us no matter the situation…
> 
> Response to Utopia´s Cocktails challenge on AFF. Same challenge as lady_of_clunn's "Diplomat".


End file.
